Banker's Draft

by Clive Mullis

  They hurried across the warehouse and tentatively opened the door a crack. Cornwallis peered out through the small gap and saw their three targets just disappearing around the front of the building. He flung the door open wide and stepped out, closely followed by Rose and Frankie.

  They half ran forward to the edge of the building and then slowed as they walked out onto the docks in as casual a manner as they could. They couldn’t see Maxwell and friends at first, the area was still busy, but a little gap opened up and they could see the three of them lurching along a wharf by the side of a ship, the same ship that had the carch loaded onto it earlier. A walkway led up to the deck, and Maxwell pushed Goup up and handed him over to a couple of sailors. Kintersbury then spoke to someone who looked like a ships officer, culminating in them shaking hands. The sailors then helped take Goup away, into the bowels of the ship. Cornwallis looked again at the name before ushering Frankie and Rose away.

  ‘We can’t let this ship leave,’ said Cornwallis. ‘I’m going to have to see the harbour master, see if we can get it stopped.’

  ‘I think you’re going to be a bit late for that,’ replied Frankie. ‘Look.’

  The three heads looked at the sudden activity on the ship, a whistle blew and the ship filled with sailors running to their posts.

  ‘Oh Gods,’ voiced Cornwallis with feeling.

  ‘Not to worry, Mr Cornwallis,’ said a confident voice at his side.

  ‘Sorry?’ Cornwallis turned to see a small man in a round topped hat wearing a long coat and he looked down at him suspiciously. ‘What are you talking about, and who are you?’

  The little man smiled. ‘Well, I’m me of course, but you can call me, er, Mr Sparrow.’

  All contact with the shore was then broken as the last of the workmen left the ship and the gang-planks hauled up. The mooring ropes were pulled in and a tug, which Cornwallis hadn’t seen, began to tow the ship out into the middle of the river.

  Frankie sidled over to stand at the side of Mr Sparrow who just looked up at him and grinned some more. Rose stood behind him, just in reach.

  ‘Your two little birds are flying away, I see; they don’t like hanging around do they?’ said Mr Sparrow, watching Maxwell and Kintersbury hurrying down the docks. ‘They must be very busy people. I recognise Pelegrew Kintersbury, but who is the other man? And who did they escort onto the ship?’ He turned his head slightly to catch Rose in his vision. ‘I know you are very good, Miss Morant, but alas you are not quite good enough, not yet at any rate, and I would so hate seeing you hurt.’

  If Rose had learnt one thing in life, it was that a little man with a lot of confidence could be a big problem. She sensed that there was more to Mr Sparrow than met the eye, that he could more than live up to his promise, and that she didn’t really want to find out what that promise was. She took half a step back.

  ‘Okay, Mr Sparrow, I’ve had enough. Have you been following us?’ asked Cornwallis, getting a little angry now.

  ‘Of course. The question you are going to ask now, is why? So I will say just this. The Bagman wants to see you.’

  ‘The Bag…? Oh no.’

  Mr Sparrow laughed. ‘I’m afraid so, Mr Cornwallis. It’s out of my hands and perhaps you might learn something to your advantage. He will tell you everything he wants you to know. Are you going to tell me who those gentlemen are?’

  Cornwallis looked at Sparrow and just shook his head slowly.

  Mr Sparrow grinned. ‘So be it, Mr Cornwallis. The Bagman will inform me when you inform him.’

  Rose listened in confusion. ‘Who’s the Bagman?’ she asked, seeing the look on Cornwallis’ and Frankie’s faces.

  ‘The Bagman is very bad news,’ explained Cornwallis, keeping his eye on Sparrow. ‘He’s what you might call the last resort. If the Bagman is involved then it is likely to be something really bad. He’s Gornstock's rat catcher.’

  ‘Very apt description, Mr Cornwallis. Now, if you would like to come with me you can forget about our two friends for a while, I’m sure you will catch up with them later.’

  Cornwallis sighed, he wasn’t expecting this turn of events, but he knew he had no option; if the Bagman wanted to see you, then you saw him. ‘All right, we’ll come with you, Mr Sparrow.’

  Sparrow nodded at the wisdom of this. ‘However, just you, Mr Cornwallis. Mr Kandalwick and Miss Morant can take the rest of the day off.’

  Cornwallis felt hamstrung as the little man spoke. He couldn’t ignore a summons from the Bagman and the little man Sparrow, confident that he was going to be obeyed, stood patiently waiting with a wide grin on his face. Cornwallis began to argue, but in the end Sparrow produced the required proof of his identity and Cornwallis’ arguments petered out. In the end, he reluctantly instructed Frankie and Rose to return to the office and told them he would see them later, if not there, then down at the Stoat. He told Frankie to see if Algernon had managed to ferret out any information, even if he just found out what they had already learnt; but he might have heard something else. Coggs still waited, along with the cat, so he left it to the two of them to sort out what they owed while he accompanied Sparrow to see the Bagman; a meeting that could be very short — or one that could be very long.

  Sparrow kept up a steady stream of conversation as they walked along the docks, with Cornwallis doing his best to ignore. He wasn’t in the mood for polite chit-chat and Sparrow’s warbling’s had begun to get on his nerves, though he did manage to find a grin when he noticed that the birds had splattered Sparrow’s hat. The little man walked on, oblivious to the speckled state of his head attire and continued to point out various ships and their intended destinations.

  Mr Sparrow had a small two-seater hidden away in an Inn up by the bridge. No money changed hands when he retrieved it so it seemed likely that they had an agreement between them. Cornwallis was just about to ask when he realised that he wouldn’t get an answer; instead, he slumped down in the seat, crossed his arms and stared silently up the road.

  Cornwallis had to concede that Sparrow knew how to drive, he seemed to flow through the traffic with consummate ease, and when they got to the junction where Coggs had created mayhem, he just breezed through without even stopping. Dewdrop still stood there trying to direct traffic, still confusing everything with his vague signals, but not Sparrow; Sparrow didn’t even blink.

  Cornwallis supposed that they were heading for the Assembly at first, but now they had missed several turns that would have taken them there in just a few minutes. He looked at the calmly relaxed Sparrow who seemingly hadn’t a care in the world; he just guided the horse with a barely perceptible flick of the wrist. Cornwallis began to wonder where on twearth they were going, when Mr Sparrow u-turned in the street and then went back the way they had just come, they seemed to pick up a little speed and he then began turning into side streets as they headed back towards the river.

  Sparrow briefly turned his head to look at Cornwallis. ‘Can’t be too careful you know; we don’t want any unwelcome interest in our movements.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ replied Cornwallis, with a degree of unease. Sparrow was concerned that they might be followed, and he had taken a long detour just to check it out.

  When they eventually arrived at the Assembly, Sparrow turned down by the side of the big building and then out onto the embankment at the rear. A short ramp led down into the bowels of the building and the horse didn’t even hesitate as they headed into the darkness. Lamps lit the way now and the close confines amplified the noise of the coach; after a few yards, they came off the ramp and into a coach park. Sparrow eased them into a parking spot and applied the brake. An old man immediately came out and begun to unhitch the horse. The smell told Cornwallis that there was stabling nearby; either that or someone had a very severe stomach problem.

  Sparrow climbed down and indicated that Cornwallis should follow. They crossed the coach park and headed to a small door on the far side. Cornwallis took the opportunity to look at some of t
he vehicles parked up; some were sleek and nimble, built for speed and manoeuvrability, while some others were large and appeared heavy as though armoured. Most though were nondescript, plain coaches that would blend into the background. An array of carts and wagons looked like they were falling apart, but knocking into one, Cornwallis found that looks could be deceiving; it was as solid as a rock.

  The door thumped shut behind them and Sparrow stood and waited. They were in a small room devoid of furniture with just a little window at the top of the wall and another door below it. After a couple of minutes, Cornwallis heard a click and that door swung open. Sparrow beckoned him forward and they walked through into a warm bright corridor. There were noises: bangs, scrapes, squeaks and a few raised voices coming from the various doors that lined the corridor. Cornwallis wanted to look in to find out what was going on, but Sparrow led them past all these and down to the far end. He opened a door and they entered a large reception room, sumptuously furnished with sofas and small coffee tables with a variety of newspapers and journals, and of course pot plants. A desk, covered with little personal mementos and more plants, placed in front of another door, was devoid of an occupant. Cornwallis surmised that he would shortly find out where that door led. Sparrow indicated that Cornwallis should sit down.

  Cornwallis picked through the titles of some of the journals; Ladies View, Classic Carts, Collider Monthly, all weeks out of date, when the door opened and a pretty little girl walked in carrying a tray with some mugs and a pot.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Cornwallis, Mr Sparrow,’ she said brightly.

  Mr Sparrow jumped up from his seat and smiled back broadly. ‘And a good evening to you too, Miss Wren, can I help you with that?’ he enquired hopefully.

  ‘I can manage, but thank you all the same. It’s coffee you drink, isn’t it, Mr Cornwallis; black, no sugar?’

  Cornwallis nodded that it was.

  ‘Mr Sparrow likes his sweet, don’t you, Mr Sparrow.’

  ‘Just like you, Miss Wren, hot and sweet.’

  ‘Mr Sparrow, please. What will Mr Cornwallis think?’ and she giggled.

  Cornwallis thought that he might like to vomit. Sparrow leered at Miss Wren with undisguised lust, but when he had looked at Rose he had been completely devoid of any emotion, and you just couldn’t compare the two. He looked at him properly now he had taken off his hat and coat: a wiry individual about the same age as himself with very ordinary looks. A face that could fit in anywhere in any circumstances, or it could be instantly forgotten; which he desperately tried to do now as Sparrow perched himself on the corner of Miss Wren’s desk and spoke to her in a soft voice. Cornwallis was thankful that he couldn’t hear what he said to her as she grinned and grimaced along with it, and then he whispered something into her ear which resulted in big wide eyes and a very suggestive smile.

  A bell sounded and straight away Sparrow got off the desk and hurried through the door. Miss Wren became all Miss prim and proper again, told him to stay sitting down, and then tried to look busy by scribbling in a book. This surprised him, as she must have been the only girl working in the Assembly at a desk; and not the tea girl as he thought. After a few minutes, the door clicked open and Sparrow put his head through, he winked at Miss Wren and then beckoned to Cornwallis to come through.

  The room was enormous. It stretched away with chairs and couches lining both walls and a hand woven rug, all of sixty feet, ran all the way along the floor to a massive oak desk at the far end of the room. Paintings lined the wall; portraits of past Wardens of Gornstock looked sternly down, whilst on the opposite wall there were landscapes of various ages depicting Gornstock as it grew. A line of lanterns, equally spaced along the walls, cast a warm glow on the whole; which went against what Cornwallis now felt.

  Mr Sparrow walked down the centre of the rug and urged Cornwallis to follow; eventually they arrived at the desk and came to a halt. As they waited, the large leather chair began to slowly spin around, revealing the occupant. A slim skeletal looking man with a hairless dome, a small pair of spectacles, giving him a sinister look, and wearing a very well cut suit. He didn’t smile as he leant back in the chair.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Cornwallis. So good of you to come.’

  ‘Did I have an option?’ replied Cornwallis through thin lips.

  ‘Not really,’ came the honest reply. ‘Now, would you be so kind as to tell me who you were following, and who left Gornstock on that ship?’

  Cornwallis tried to take a few moments to think, unusually, from what he heard about the Bagman, he had come straight to the point with no verbal jousting, no beating about the bush, and no lulling into a false sense of security. ‘Why do you want to know?’ he replied, with a confidence that teetered on the edge; the Bagman did that to most people.

  The Bagman’s lips widened in a smile, but the eyes told a different story; they were like two shards of ice. ‘Because, Mr Cornwallis, I have a vested interest in the assignment you are currently undertaking. Let us be frank, it will make things an awful lot easier in the long term, and probably the short term too. Now, a burglary at Roland Goup’s office started it all for you, however, for me it started some time before that. It had come to my attention that Abraham Dumchuck had made a big mistake, a very big mistake, involving his tax returns.’

  Cornwallis’ eyes widened at this, they had thought about the name of Dumchuck back in Goup’s office, so it was his file that went missing.

  ‘Yes, our Gornstock Bank’s president. Now we heard about this mistake and took steps to seize the documents ourselves. At the time we decided to do it surreptitiously, as the sums mentioned were enormous, but unfortunately, our Mr Dooley, the Chief of the Treasury, didn’t make a copy; he just sent the return back. So we had to retrieve it by placing one of our operatives into Goup’s office, however, something unfortunate happened to her.

  Cornwallis was shocked. ‘You mean Eliza Knutt?’

  Mr Hawk nodded. ‘Yes, her real name, I may add, as we didn’t have time to establish a proper background. Quite sad really, very sad; she was one of my better agents, a tragic coincidence to have that nasty thief there at the same time. Now, would you please answer my questions: the man with Kintersbury, and who did he put on that ship?’

  Cornwallis sighed to himself. It wouldn’t take much for the Bagman to find out anyway, and he had already been given another snippet of information. ‘They put Goup on the ship, the other man is called Maxwell, a very nasty piece of work. He has something to do with Gornstock Trust and Holdings.’

  ‘Thank you Mr Cornwallis.’ He turned to Sparrow and steepled his fingers. ‘Well, you know what to do, don’t you, Mr Sparrow?’

  Sparrow smiled. ‘I will order it done now, sir.’

  Sparrow turned, caught Cornwallis’ eye, and then marched back down the centre of the room. The Bagman flicked a button on his desk and the door at the end clicked open. Mr Sparrow pulled it and went through, as the door shut there was another click. Cornwallis furrowed his brow.

  ‘Yes, Mr Cornwallis, the door is locked. Some people try to leave in a hurry for some reason; I couldn’t begin to understand why.’ He scrutinised Cornwallis for a few moments and came to a decision. ‘Mr Sparrow will stop the ship some way down the river, so there will be no chance of a message coming back to Gornstock.’ A yelp came from the reception and then a peel of laughter. ‘Ah, Mr Sparrow and Miss Wren must be getting reacquainted, the young today, eh? Never miss an opportunity, do they?’

  ‘Obviously not,’ he answered indifferently. A thought crossed his mind. ‘Does everybody have bird names?’

  The Bagman smirked. ‘For the moment, yes, though we might change it in due course, just for securities sake.’

  ‘So, what do they call you? Bald eagle?’ asked Cornwallis, putting an edge to his voice.

  A flinty glint passed across the Bagman’s eyes, and then quickly vanished. ‘Tsk-tsk, Mr Cornwallis, there is no need for that. Actually, I’m Mr Hawk, so you weren’t far away. Now take a s
eat, please.’

  Cornwallis looked around. The closest chair was very low and a few feet away from the desk, but there were some dining chairs a little further down the room, so Cornwallis walked down, picked one up and returned, placing it directly in front of the desk. He sat down and crossed his legs.

  ‘Interesting, Mr Cornwallis. Most people sit down on that one,’ he pointed to the low chair nearest to him. ‘But not you, you are going to try to intimidate me. The next thing you plan to do is lean forward and put your arms on my desk, but it won’t make any difference, except it’ll probably hurt your shoulder, but full marks for trying.’

  Cornwallis raised an eyebrow, because he was planning to do exactly that; and how did he learn about his painful shoulder? Of course, he mentally slapped his head, Sparrow.

  ‘Word travels quickly, Mr Cornwallis,’ he said to the unspoken question. ‘Your little coming together with the coach was most unfortunate. Now then,’ he continued, dismissing the subject. ‘Why have I brought you here?’ Mr Hawk leant back in the chair and smiled. ‘That is what you are asking yourself; and you will be pleased to know it is because you are doing far better than I thought you would.’

  Cornwallis noticed that his concern over Miss Knutt had disappeared. ‘And what does that mean?’

  ‘It means I’m not going to take this investigation away from you, however, there will be some conditions.’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Cornwallis, holding up a hand. ‘I’m only involved because Radstock heard a rumour and happened to be at Scooters yard at the time, he apparently said that he didn’t want the police involved with the investigation.’

  ‘Yes, he did. Mr Radstock is a very good boy, you know; he does, and believes, everything we tell him. And before you ask, he is not one of us. We intended to let you investigate the burglary, letting you flounder about, trying to find the perpetrator, which of course, you would never have done, and we would then have known what Dumchuck was up to. Also, we didn’t want the police to go through Mr Goup’s files, because there are a few things there that need to be kept quiet. Radstock really enjoys thinking he knows things others don’t. Eliza, may the Gods bless her soul, was going to “find the burglary” and inform the police, and then Radstock was to be there to make sure you got the job. You got the job, but Eliza died and then you began to investigate a murder. It is unfortunate that the police now have the files at Scooters Yard; we thought you might put them somewhere else, so now we are going to have to retrieve them. We will have all the other evidence you have too; the handkerchief, the trousers and jacket, the rags for the attempted arson, the little matchbook, we will even take the pictures off your hands. Those are the conditions, I want all the evidence and all the information you have.’